Page 41 of No Darker Temptation

The windows here are blue, yellow, and red, framed by rounded arches of dark hardwood I stripped, sanded, and stained weeks ago. Opposite of that is the wall I’ve been working on for the last few days. The long gallery is at the center of our part of the house and connects most of the main rooms and staircases together. I’ve already finished re-staining all the wainscoting along the bottom but recently, I’ve taken on the task of trying to restore the chinoiserie wallpaper on top which has been no easy feat. It’s over a hundred years old and in poor condition but I’d hate to toss it out without at least trying to save it first.

Chinoiserie wallpaper is made of raw silk and later treated so that paint pigments will stick to the surface. Afterwards, it’s dyed and then pasted against either a canvas or paper backing. I carefully remove each panel so as not to risk any tearing. For the most part, the wallpaper comes down easily and I start by cleaning them with a damp sponge, avoiding places that are cracked or chipped. I suppose I could always lay the wallpaper against a panel and have it framed but I really think I can save all of it if I take my time.

Too bad Doña Ana’s in the mood to be a drill sergeant today. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be so distracted.

“No, pintar, Dahlia. Pintar.”

Doña Ana points at the wall, motioning with her hand as if she was holding a paintbrush.

“That’s what I said!”

“Dibujar y pintar no son lo mismo.”

I place a hand on my hip. “That seems fake.”

She sucks her teeth at me and gives my backside a light tap with the stack of flashcards. “No seas fresca,” she warns but it’s very difficult to take her seriously when she barely reaches my shoulders. “Otra vez, dime como se llama.”

I hold up the paintbrush. “La brocha.”

“Muy bien. ¿Y esta?” She points to the paint can.

“La pintura?”

She nods and goes through her flashcards again before pointing at my feet. “Y, ¿cómo se llama el papel que pones en las paredes?”

For a second I think she’s talking about my shoes which I know for a fact are called zapatos. But then I notice the rolls of chinoiserie I’ve been working on restoring and pick up one of the panels.

“Well…I’m not really sure. Chinoiserie is a French word. Wallpaper?” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “¿El papel pintado? I don’t know! This is hard!”

She laughs a bit and leans against the gallery windowsill, abandoning the flashcards beside her. Doña Ana is perhaps the best part about living here but I won’t tell Alejandro that. It’s been a long time since I had a mother and it’s nice to be taken care of by someone with a maternal touch. Not to mention she can get stains out of anything and conducts housework in a tweed skirt suit like a sixties Barbie doll. Alejandro told me once she’s been with the family for decades but her face is unmarred by time, save laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Her hair is the same rich shade of brown as her eyes and her sandy complexion remains untouched by the sun. Soft-spoken and a timeless beauty, I refuse to believe she’s any older than sixty.

“Está bien, ahora en inglés. Yo también necesito practicar.”

“Oh, perfect. Let’s start with the bad words,” I tell her and return to the wall behind me. “I doubt this will have the same affect in Europe, but if someone really pisses you off and they look like their parents are first cousins, you tell them to get their raggedy Alabama looking⁠—”

“Dahlia.”

Alejandro rounds the corner, adjusting the watch on his left wrist. “What did I tell you about corrupting Doña Ana?”

“Not corrupting. Educating!” I defend.

He makes a face at me before stopping in front of Doña Ana and leaning down so she can bless him on his way out. He smiles and gives her an affectionate pat on the cheek before approaching me. “I’m heading to the lounge, I’ll be back in a bit.”

I lift my head to receive the kiss he gives me. “Are you taking the car?”

“I am but Dimitrio will be here. Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Just the store, I ran out of mousse and I want to wash my hair before tonight.”

He smiles and snakes an arm around my waist. “Are you going to wear the dress Lettie got you?”

My nose crinkles. “I don’t have shoes for a dress like that.”

“You could always buy a pair. You know, with one of the dozen credit cards collecting dust in your wallet.”

The bell rings and Doña Ana quietly dismisses herself, off to go fetch the mail from downstairs. When she’s gone, Alejandro backs me up against the wall and kisses his way down the column of my neck. I squeal and almost drop the paintbrush.

“Cut it out!” I squirm beneath him, giggling. “You’re going to get glue everywhere.”